Re-Centering, Surprisingly

Three weeks ago I uploaded a post about the impending departure of my son for El Paso.  I was worried about the potential for melt-down in his absence.  Well, it's time to report in on that.

I'm fine.

That's it. It's kind of weird.  I expected to be really missing him by this time. But I don't. I think it's the first time ever that he's gone to his dad's and I sincerely have not missed him.  I think about him from time to time. I comment on his Facebook posts, or ponder what he's up to today.  But that's not the same as missing him.

It's a sea change in parenting for me.  That boy has been the very center of my existence for 14 years. Now, suddenly and quite unexpectedly, I find my own self able to creep in there with him. I am edging back into my own center.

I have been truly liberated since the ex moved. I don't know if there's a cause-and-effect thing going on there, or just a matter of their move coinciding with a change in attitude (perhaps a bit of both), but it's like coming out of a dim and frigid interior into the light and warmth of a fine June day. hallelujah!

So what am I doing with my time?  Well, that's sort of pathetic. Nothing, really. I'm subsisting largely on cereal, red wine, radishes, bananas, and avocados (not all at the same time). I go to the gym (my one redeeming activity). I journal. I indulge in graphic novels (truly an indulgence since they're stupid expensive and don't last that long) and binge-watch Netflix series (Sense8 was awesome). I've been listening to music, which I had gotten out of the habit of. I'm indolent. hedonistic. And summer is a good time to be that way.

I remember summer when I was a teenager:  it seemed to go on forever.  I spent hours in the pool, drifting on a raft listening to the cicadas buzz, or hanging out with friends at night, or lazing around my room with a stack of books from the library. I didn't realize then that my experience of summer in that way was destined to be short-lived. It was just the way summer was. It never occurred to me that my parents' experience of summer was quite different.

Lately, however, my experience of summer has been the blast of hot air as I step out of the frigid museum at 5:15. I haven't done any of the things I associate so nostalgically with summer. I haven't been to a lake or river yet this season. I haven't been to a pool. I haven't carried a cooler anywhere for any purpose. I haven't gardened to any significant degree. The cucumbers are feral.  I haven't even hung in my porch swing with a bottle of beer and a book.

So in honor of Fourth of July weekend, I hereby declare it Summer. High Summer.  And I shall observe it in appropriate manner.  This weekend I will swim in the lake, catch fireflies, drink cold beer, listen to summer music, read in my swing, and grill chicken on the patio. If I could I'd even make out on a blanket under the summer stars. I can't be a grown-up all the time.

This evening I'll take Roxy for a walk, and I'll be sure to go out after dark to observe the close passage of Venus and Jupiter, which are supposed to be very bright tonight on the western horizon at dusk. Stargazing is a zen thing. It gives you a sense of scale. Sometimes it's a relief to be small and insignificant: to not have to hold the sky up for now. To just drift and look at the universe.